Blooded Chivalry
by Hydriatus
Summary: They say there is no rest for the dead. Is there no fellowship for them too? OC
1. Chapter 1

**Blooded Chivalry**

**Chapter One**

**Unchanging Change**

In a class of thirty girls, one knew there was always trouble. When the class in question was 3A, the word 'trouble' was better off being replaced with 'chaos', or 'mayhem' for that matter. It was just one of those things that always happened, like a routine almost. The way the ten year old teacher was always mobbed by the girls whenever he entered the class.

Just one of those things.

Or the way a certain blonde girl glared at the teacher murderously whenever he called upon her in class. It always happened, and nothing ever changed. Not really. Things just relapsed, repeated themselves. Names and faces changed, yes, but never events. A hard lesson to learn first hand, but it had been learned, by two members of Class 3A. Perhaps it was coincidence that both were dead, the vampire and the ghost. Both had watched time fly by lazily, never being able to move on with it. Trapped, like flies in amber, gazing out as the world turned and changed. One with sadness and acceptance, the other with envy and rage. Both with companions they are sure to lose eventually, whether by decay or malfunction.

Yes, some things never changed.

Never? Sorry, slip of the tongue. After all, there are always exceptions, no matter how brief, no matter that they will not change the greater scheme. Sometimes, that brief time of change was enough.

* * *

"Come Chachamaru," Evangeline growled, brushing her long blonde hair out of her face as she shot a look of pure evil in the direction of her teacher and student. The young boy gulped visibly as he caught the look, and quickly packed his things and left the class, for once ahead of all the girls. The seemingly-ten-year-old girl smirked as he made his exit, triumphant once more in scaring the little kid. Abruptly the smile slid from her face. Had she actually fallen that far, all the way down to scaring little children? Her, the Dark Evangel?

"Master?" interrupted Chachamaru, her gynoid companion. "Are you alright?"

The smaller girl blinked from her reverie, angry at herself for the moment of levity. She could do it any other time, what with being immortal and all. Being a vampire had its advantages. Being stuck in this damned school, however, did not. She tossed her bag at her servant, and stood up, casting one last glance to see who had remained behind for some reason or other. Unsurprisingly, just her and Chachamaru, along with the other unlikely pair. The reporter and the ghost. Evangeline just ignored the pair as she made her way past the rows of desks and chairs, the same ones she had passed when leaving this class for the first time, all those years ago. It always made her feel old, which in the end she supposed she was, being over three-hundred years old.

"Ah, Eva-san, wait a sec!" said the red-head reporter as Evangeline passed the pair, turning from her ghostly friend, smiling. The vampire considered ignoring the annoying youngling, but decided against it. Asakura could be extremely persistent when she had to be, something she didn't need.

"What is it?" growled the vampire, shooting the reporter a black look.

Asakura ignored it as she asked, "Are you busy tonight? There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Like?" snapped the smaller girl, glaring at the red-head, who pressed on, oblivious.

"You're a vampire right? So you've been around for hundreds of years. I was wondering how it was for you to live through that," answered Asakura with her inquisitive grin.

Evangeline was in no mood for nosey girls. She never was. She might be tolerant from time to time, but not today. It had been a long day and she just wanted to go home and devise a new training regime to have the brat begging for mercy.

So she just snorted in contempt and walked past the red head, her faithful follower…erm, following. "Keep wondering that, Asakura-san," she smirked as she left the classroom.

"Heh, Eva-san's being as friendly as always," laughed the reporter, seemingly to herself, swinging her bag over her shoulder and leaving the classroom as well. "Don't you agree, Sayo-chan?" she added quietly, so that no one could hear.

Except the ghostly transparent girl floating just behind her shoulder of course. She smiled and nodded in response to her friend's question. "I suppose so. The ten years or so she's been here don't seem to have changed her."

"So she was always like this?" queried Kazumi inquisitively, turning her head to look the ghost in the eye.

"Ever since she came to the classroom," confirmed Sayo thoughtfully, trying to remember. "She never had any friends, and only met Chachamaru two years ago."

Kazumi pondered over this momentarily. "So eight years totally alone, in the same class, never ageing. Just relapsing once she reached a certain point. Must've been hard on her."

Sayo pondered this as she floated through the floor as Kazumi made her way down the broad stairs, meeting up with the ghost at the bottom, still pondering over the statement.

"I suppose so," answered the other undead member of 3A. "That's what it was like for me," she finished sadly as the duo went outside into the brilliant afternoon light.

* * *

"What a day," sighed Negi, resting his head on his desk. The ten year old teacher smiled slightly to himself despite the tiring day. His class was doing well, and improvement seemed certain. His own classes with Masters Ku and Evangeline were progressing smoothly too.

"Ah, Negi-kun, how was your day?" asked Seruhiko cheerfully as he entered the teachers lounge, balancing a precarious tower of textbooks to be marked. He teetered dangerously to his left before managing to regain his balance with a briefly muttered levitation spell. Negi smiled slightly at the older teacher as he put down his load on the neighbouring desk.

"It's going well Seruhiko-san. The students seem to be improving, so perhaps my class can win the Academy Cup for exam excellence again," he said with tired happiness. If his class was doing well, then it surely meant he was doing well as a teacher.

His fellow teacher smiled warmly as he flipped open the first book to be marked, his red pen hanging above the page full of notes. "Always work and achievement with you, isn't it? You should take it easy from time to time Negi-kun," he offered helpfully.

Briefly, Negi thought of the last time he had taken a break from teaching, wincing at the memory of his class enthusiastically dragging him to the swimming pool and hurling him in before trying to impress him with their choice of clothing. Frankly, it was amazing he'd kept his blood, his dignity and his job. "Ah, I'm okay Seruhiko-san. I prefer to take care of work as soon as it forms."

"So hard-working. Your father never was like this…" muttered Seruhiko with a smile, scribbling in the book lying before him. The younger teacher just sighed to himself and looked around the bustling staff room, noting the familiar faces of his fellow workers and mages. Gandolfini-sensei, with his imposing dark suit. Shizuna-sensei with her sizeable…knowledge of health matters. Takamichi, always smoking. They were all worthy of respect, admiration even. With them, Negi felt almost at home, despite the lack of an annoying Anya.

Abruptly, the dean entered. Negi blinked in surprise. It was rare indeed for the headmaster of Mahora to come to the lounge, especially when he had his own entire office in which to relax in any way he saw fit. Yet as always, the old mage's expression was unfathomable. He strode regally across the room, the chatter dying away as the other teachers respectfully acknowledged his arrival. Dean Konoe did not demand, or even request such formality. His mere presence made it second nature to those around him. He smiled warmly at all of them, beckoning for them to be at ease as he addressed the assembled faculty.

"I trust everything has been going alright for everyone?" He always began on a note like that, reminding everyone of the familiarity they shared and the easy familiarity with which they could act towards each other. It made him more friendly and accessible, someone who could be easily trusted. But unlike others who used such methods, his motivations were sincere and pure. He really did care for those he was responsible for. Which was pretty much everybody in the Academy.

The faculty in the exclusive lounge nodded or smiled or answered him warmly, welcoming him back into their midst. The old man smiled and cleared his throat, indicating he had something important to say. As one the teachers fell into a respectful silence. "As you are surely aware, there have been severe storms throughout Japan this year, all as a result of the cyclone off the western coast." Most of the teachers nodded sagely, severely or someway else to signify being serious. The dean continued, "Fortunately, no one has as yet been hurt. However, I have consulted our diviners and they predict a fair chance of one of these storms hitting Mahora. As such, I wish you to be aware and supportive of the schemes which will be running during the next week to prevent any flood or wind damage to the Academy."

The staff took a moment to process this information, before several questions were raised, which was inevitable really.

"Will this impact upon our teaching schedules?" asked Seruhiko.

"Will the students remain here if a storm does indeed come to the Academy?" queried Takahata.

"Will we be required to help out?" added Negi.

The dean raised a hand to stem the outbreak of questions. "Not much, just incorporate some storm drills and evacuation procedures into your lessons. If the storm comes I would want all students to be away, but in case such wishes remain unfulfilled, I have ordered shelters prepared. And yes, you will all be required to help out in the preparation effort in some way," he answered in order, regarding each of the faculty members in turn. "I hope you impart the gravity of the situation to your students, and make them aware of what is expected of them."

The faculty chorused its agreement with the dean's words before he nodded curtly and left to his office, leaving the other teachers to discuss this news amongst themselves. Except for Negi, who always placed duty first, being the nice little gentleman he was. He politely made his excuses and left for his room, seeking Asuna and Konoka.

* * *

Sayo sighed to herself for the hundredth time that day. She couldn't help it. It was just so…frustrating. Here she was, sixty years dead, and nothing had really changed. All she could do was stand…er, float, and watch her classmates' progress through the Academy and then leave, their lives ahead of them. Not so for her. She was stuck here, forever. Why? She no longer remembered. She had forgotten a lot of things over the course of her un-life, and was left with nought but acceptance of her fate.

She was wandering outside, amongst the tended gardens. Kazumi had gone off to her dorm to take care of another issue of the Academy newspaper, leaving the ghost with nothing to do except stare at the reporter working or go for a walk….I mean float. The dead girl looked up at the overcast sky, reflecting. The weather was a good example of why she was feeling down. It was always changing. Scant minutes ago it was clear and joyous, before her own mood darkened as she fell into the familiar thoughts of her existence. All around her the world changed, her classmates moving on and ageing, the Academy expanding and diversifying. Wars had ended, and new ones had begun. The land had been ravaged by storms and blessed by calm, and through all this, she had stood still in time. Never ageing, never changing. It was depressing.

But Sayo refused to allow her black mood to devour her. The ghost shoved her dark thoughts to the back of her ethereal mind, focusing on the positives in her recent times, the changes. The most recent class had provided some joy for her. She had even made a friend, Kazumi Asakura. And her cute little teacher could also see her, which for some reason made her blush before she shook her head to derail that train of thought before it reached an unwanted station. That would never happen, he had much better prospects. Namely those with a pulse. Her chance had come and gone, more fleeting than her life.

Sayo still sometimes thought of that boy she had liked, so long ago. She no longer even knew his name, nor how he looked like. Just a feeling of warmth and longing. And now, there was nothing, just the emptiness of death. The youthful spirit sighed once more, falling into a pleasant daydream of what it'd be like to be loved.

* * *

Meanwhile, in her practical and atmospheric cottage, Evangeline A.K. McDowell was having surprisingly similar thoughts. Being also dead, perhaps it was unsurprising. The small girl was sitting in her room, idly reading through one of her ancient dusty tomes, trying to quench her thoughts. That boy was so infuriating! Prancing around like that, just like his father. She sneered in contempt. The Thousand Master wasn't some hero. He was just an irresponsible fool, full of himself and supremely arrogant. And despite that, he continued to plague her thoughts.

She had loved him, and how did he react? He had laughed in her face and treated her like a child! She didn't need to take that from someone who hadn't lived even a single lifetime! She had tried to show him her maturity, her strength. And in the end, she ended up being bound to this hell for her troubles. The young vampire gritted her teeth at the simple thought of that grinning idiot. She had sworn to herself to make him pay one day, slowly and painfully.

And yet she couldn't help sometimes but wonder how her un-life would have turned out if he had accepted her feelings. She definitively wouldn't be here, that was for sure. She'd have been happier, with all her power still intact. She would have continued to exercise her power upon the world until it fell to its knees to beg for forgiveness, the Thousand Master at her side.

Evangeline blinked, feeling fury rise within her. The familiar burning sensation in her mind was like an old, unwelcome friend. The vampire pointedly ignored the feeling and busied herself with her tome. Things didn't turn out how one planned. Things changed. She was a vampire, she knew full well about change. Having lived half a millennium, she had seen how wars had been waged, indeed, had taken part in some. She had seen chivalry fall into the dirt of the western front, innocents dragged onto the battlefield to serve a cause they knew little about. Politics, morals, loyalties, all had changed. She had adapted to live in these conditions, keeping up with the world as it developed far beyond her wildest dreams as a mortal.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to read the pages in front of her, her eyes running along the lines and swirls, her mind remembering the familiar passages. The book reeked of decay, and the faded pages were stiff and dry. The writing was old, impossibly so, yet the Dark Evangel could read it without difficulty.

It was one of her favourites, this tome. So old, seeped in darkness and death. She had had it for as long as she could remember, which was pretty long. It was a simple book, clad in black leather, unadorned with a title or any marking. But its simplicity disguised its genius. The current page she was studying was an example of this brilliance. The other facing page was a large, ancient sketch of a hooded and cloaked figure.

* * *

_Death exists as a being in all mythologies of the world. Indeed, it is one of the defining characters of any faith. Known as an Angel of Death, a Warden of Souls, a Guardian of the Damned, these are all but fanciful titles for the same being. Curiously, all legends point to a figure shrouded in darkness. Whether covered by a cloak or pitch black wings, or smoke eternally oozing off it does not matter. _

_The image of the Reaper has been burned into the minds of the planet, long before the dawn of civilisation. Mages, theologians, mundanes argue over this, none the wiser of the truth. The Reaper, the one who spread the Black Death across Europe, who instigated revolutions throughout history, who laid waste to the Roman Empire. _

_No, this is far beyond the work of a single belief, unified across the globe. This is not some phantom, always out of sight, striking from the darkness of our hearts and claiming our souls as his own. I have met this creature, and I know it. And I fear it all the more. _

_It is real, a being of death with its own sentience. Forever haunting our world, killing and reanimating whatever and whomever it likes for sport. The Black Death in Europe was but one of its grand schemes, one which nearly succeeded, before the plague died out. No reason has been found, and likely never will be. The truth of those dark times was sealed beyond the knowledge of humanity, beyond the reach of the Reaper itself. _

_But it is not truly known as the Reaper. That is merely a label attached to it by the frightened mortals who encountered it and had the misfortune to remain amongst the living. This being is a wraith. The oldest and most powerful. Indeed, it is the King of Wraiths, its dark shadow falling across the planet even now, with no one none the wiser. _

_This fell creature has a name. _

_Madrix. _

* * *

Evangeline snorted, closing the book. The mad ravings of some foolish priest always brightened her mood. Madrix indeed. There had been a wraith of that name, long ago. He was nothing compared to her though. The Dark Evangel was the scourge of the magical world, before her imprisonment here in this accursed school!

But she took comfort in the fact that not even the Thousand Master had been able to defeat her. All he was capable of doing was imprisoning her. But sooner or later, like all of those who were trapped, she would be free. And then she would hunt down that cocksure fool and teach him a lesson!

* * *

**Discalimer:** Madrix is the property of DarkDragonDave.

**A/N:** And yet another project from my over taxed mind sees the light of day. Once more I'm writing this in a half planned approach, so who knows what madness will appear in this tale?

Thanks to the TS for being a nice sounding board, and DDD for proofing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blooded Chivalry**

**Chapter Two**

**Storm Warden**

Negi scratched his head, pondering. He wasn't entirely sure how to break this to them, so decided to go with honesty.

"Girls, as you know, the weather has lately been progressively getting worse. And it's expected to get only worse –"

"We'll wear raincoats then!" offered Makie brightly, to much agreement.

"Or I could come up with something to break the cloud cover," suggested Saotomi, idly tinkering with a piece of machinery which looked for the entire world like a bomb. "A large enough fan could be manoeuvred into position by Chachamaru and…"

"Enough!" ordered Ayaka, slamming her hand down onto her desk as she stood up, staring down at the rest of her unruly class. "Let Negi-sensei finish before you start seeking attention!"

"Aww Ayaka, that was mean," pouted Makie, turning to their teacher. "Right Negi-sensei?"

"Y…N….Girls, don't try to avoid the subject! There is a storm coming, and it is strongly recommended you leave campus for the coming week," he said in a flustered rush. The class was quiet momentarily, everyone assimilating the information.

"What?! Is it going to be that bad?!" exclaimed Fuka, eyes wide, before staring outside. It was another cloudy day, and a few stray raindrops had fallen upon the windows.

"Oh it's that typhoon isn't it? So it's coming here?" asked Saotomi, with scientific detachment as she wrapped up her current project and stowed it away in her bag before steepling her fingers in front of her as she leaned on her desk, the classical 'I'm interested' look.

"Well, yes," replied Negi, slightly puzzled as he was sure he had already said that. "Anyway, the dean has asked me to make sure that in case of evacuations, you all have somewhere to go to, so…" he continued, before being overwhelmed with a storm of answers.

Sitting at the front row, Sayo smiled slightly at the friendly havoc she had grown accustomed to. It was part of the package that was 3A. Ayaka was standing tall and proud amidst all this, honourably offering her little sensei a room at her mansion, only to be drowned out by the multitude of other offers being thrown at the little teacher. Having come from Wales, it looked like he had nowhere to weather out the storm for the week.

Not a problem she was likely to face any time soon. She was dead already, so what was the worst that could happen to her? She hardly needed any kind of shelter. Being ethereal had its advantages in the end, she supposed. But that meant having to spend a week alone…er, more alone than usual. She felt depression begin to gnaw away at her once more.

"Will you be ok?" asked the red head sitting next to her under her breath to avoid being overheard. Kazumi Asakura, one of the few people able to see the ghostly girl, making it easier on her, and more fun for her too of course.

The spirit smiled. "Yeah don't worry. I'll just go to the tsuyabuki garden and wait for you all to come back."

The reporter shot her a side ways look. "You sure you'll be ok?" she asked once more, just to be sure. Sayo knew what she was offering, for her to come along. But this was merely a storm, not worth inconveniencing her friends for. She'd endured worse, her death testified to that. She nodded, smiling softly. Kazumi nodded once before turning her attention back to their teacher, who had miraculously managed to restore a semblance of order.

Sayo continued to smile, though there was no life in it. She'd be totally alone for a week. After finally having a friend, and conversations, it would be crushing. She sighed and looked out the window at the oncoming storm. Only a few days ago the weather had been idyllic. And now…now it was on its way to becoming hellish. Such a fickle thing, nature.

"…and so, those of you who cannot leave to see your relatives, will be required to sign in at the reception in order for us to be able to count you during the evacuation," continued Negi when Sayo began to pay attention once more. Most of the class nodded at that. It wasn't surprising really, seeing as Mahora was a live-in campus; it stood to reason that the students' families were far from the school. And so it wound up that over half the class would be evacuated to the shelters built into the mountains, high above any possible flood level.

* * *

Of course, such matters were beyond the worries of Evangeline McDowell, who had sent another flunky scurrying away on the verge of a heart attack. Her robotic maid shut the door behind him, before walking back to the kitchen to finish preparing tea.

"Foolish weaklings," growled the tiny vampire stalking back to her bedroom and flinging herself onto the gigantic double bed, savouring the comfort. Her eyes drifted over back to her leather tome, placed to one side when another of the Headmaster's snivelling cowards had come to advise her to evacuate. Honestly, she had a magical barrier placed around the cottage just in case of such emergencies. All she had to do was activate it once everyone was gone.

She shrugged off the problem and reached over to her faithful tome, flipping it open to the page she was before she had been interrupted again. This one showed an imposing black pyramid, a nimbus of sickly green light playing around it, with a solar eclipse occurring over its peak. The desert around the cursed structure was writhing with the bones of the damned, stirring from their slumber, and on a platform, jutting out of the pyramids surface like a knife in a wound. Standing upon it, staring at its domain, was a bandaged figure, strands of wasted grey hair stirred by a non-existant wind. Leaning on a highly ornate weapon, the figure was reaching out with a skeletal hand, the bandages there having rotted away, as if to grasp the very air the living used for sustenance.

* * *

_A long time ago, in the City of Kings, lived a young prince. He was a passionet student, learning all he could about everything. But he was also brash, foolish and proud. Yet he served his people faithfully, never shirking from his duty. The kingdom he was to inherit was mighty, with cities and people beyond counting. But it could not stand against the might of the Sons of Romulus. _

_Though military, economic and military might, they drove the land to the brink of capitulation. And finally, one night, a dark assassin crept into the prince's room and dealt him a fatal blow, a bloodied kiss. Fearing the fall of his father's kingdom, and fearing for his soul now his blood had been tainted by an undead, the young prince struck a deal with the dark gods Set and Anubis. They would grant him the power to destroy his enemies, and in return, the prince offered them his soul. The gods accepted his offer, but the prince was never cured of his growing passion for blood. _

_Anubis gave the prince command of one of his Legions, the Crimson Army. The damned dead, those who had failed their final judgement, and had been left to be devoured by Ammit, but had succeeded in fending off the beast with their will and spirit. These were the foot troops. Set meanwhile provided the beasts of war and machines of woe. _

_Their herald was a horde of foul insects which once struck the City of Kings in the name of a God. Set had taken these harbingers of plight and gifted the prince with mastery over them. Clouds of buzzing swarms would descend on any who opposed the Army, blinding them whilst the damned blades of the dead tore through flesh. Anubis, not to be outdone, also gave the prince a gift. A weapon fashioned from the god's flail. The Meteor Arch. _

_And like a dark plague, the Army swept North over the sea. _

_They were without feeling, showing neither fear nor remorse. They pushed the Sons of Romulous back to the walls of their precious city. Their deal complete, Anubis and Set claimed the soul of the prince, and the army returned to the place of shadow from whence they came. That is where they linger now, marshalling their forces under the command of the prince, who forsook his name and title and became the true heir of the legacy Anubis and Set had left him: Nymsik, Leader of the Crimson Army. _

* * *

Evangeline purred softly to herself, enjoying the tingle of pleasure she always received form reading the tome. The legends within where wonderful inventions of a mad monk, and his tortured screams echoed around the book, which contained so much of his soul and broken mind.

When she was at her most whimsical, the Dark Evangel could almost see the man's pained face trying to tear its way out from the pages. She smiled as she lovingly ran a finger along the writing, the faded letters shimmering slightly beneath her touch, recognizing the brand of magic running within her.

Removing her hand from the book, she gently closed it and placed it back in its rightful place atop the shelf. It seemed to squirm as it was placed amidst the other tomes, but books about dark themes were always like that. She tilted her head to the side, briefly pondering.

Blood thirst huh? She knew how infuriating that could be until one reached an age when it became less necessary and could be controlled. Though a prince fighting to protect his dying kingdom…what a fool. The vampire smirked to herself as she put on her cloak, heading for the door. Nothing ever lasted. Even this academy would sooner or later be ground into dust. Whether by time or demons it mattered not. All fell into dust.

Evangeline AK McDowell had seen too many empires rise and fall to believe in anything surviving. The legend of Ozymandias was something that everybody would do well to remember.

* * *

There was a heavy ringing sound as the metal constructs lifted the cargo into the air and carried it onto the shore. Sitting silently, chin resting on his fist, the figure waited as the metal box he was in lurched as it was lifted up and carried over before being deposited on a carriage. He knew this was happening because he could sense it.

The utter blackness where he waited did not faze him. Indeed, he welcomed it. His place was in the shadows, destined to never be seen. There was a snort and a stamp. Looking up, the man smiled softly. Though he couldn't see it, he knew his faithful steed was impatiently tramping the metal beneath their feet, eager to travel again. Another snort and a neigh as well.

He raised a finger to his lip and hushed quietly, but enough for the beast to hear him. Immediately the animal ceased it showing its annoyance, standing still and regarding him coolly. The constant pitter-patter of rain onto the box echoed around the silent cavity, disturbed now and then by a clunk as yet another container was manoeuvred into position and deposited.

"Calm yourself," whispered the figure, his face impassive. The creature in front of him shook its head, the armour on its neck clinking slightly. He looked away, staring into space once more as a loud clang and sudden tremor announced their container being deposited on the train carriage. Closing his eyes, the figure began to meditate, his mind calming itself.

Then the heavy steel door swung open, allowing the dreary grey light of the outside world to fall into the container.

"What the hell?!" exclaimed a voice.

The figure inside did not move or open its eyes, the light proving enough of a discomfort enough as things were.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded the strange voice accusingly, throwing open the door to let all the light in.

The figure hissed in mild annoyance. He hated the light, the noise, the attention, the people screaming and running and the burning and the dying and she was dead and he had failed and-

"Oi, are you listening to me?" snapped the voice again. It was male, clearly Asian. The heartbeat was picking up pace as adrenaline poured into the arteries, being carried all over the man's body.

The figure stood up, never speaking or opening its eyes. The armour it wore grated against itself, scraping off the dried blood and muck. Behind it, the stallion growled and stomped the ground in anticipation.

The man at the door saw clearly the contents of the container, and exclaimed in shock and horror as he fell back, arms raised to protect himself.

With a loud neighing, the stallion burst from the darkened confines, its barding, the colour of dried blood, shimmering dully in the dreary sunlight. Digging his heels into its flanks, the armoured figure rode off down the railway tracks, vanishing into the mist.

Badly shaken, the sailor watched it vanish, his heart hammering. "W-what the hell was that?!"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Nymsik is property of DarkDragonDave.

**Omegarulesall: **Thank you for the praise.

**Tikigod784: **DDD is rather aweosme at creating bad guys! And there's a whole gang still to do...

**TzuiAssassian:** Dark indeed. TIme for me to do somehting not so utterly silly and random as the Luke Mythos.


End file.
